‘Twas the day before Chloe (our 3 year old) starts kindergarten, so I decided to do some last minute testing, not unlike when I don’t exercise all winter and then the morning of the first summer pool party, after ten burpees, think I’m ready to sport the new suit.

It was Chloe’s choice to play Scrabble–not mine.

Sometimes we build castles with the letters, use them as Dominos but rarely do we play the actual game.

She dealt twelve letters to me and seventy-four to herself careful not to give herself any blanks because they are clearly a manufacturers error.

I held up the letter “H” and asked, “Chloe, can you tell me what letter this is?”

She stared at it for an uncomfortable moment until I jumped in so as not to discourage her on the first try.

“This is a letter H…..H is for Hanna.”

Chloe: Actually Mom, that’s a four.

Oh dear.

A few moments after the alphabet quiz that went terribly wrong she handed me a quarter and said, “I know who this is,” as she pointed to the Queen on the coin.

Me: Oh, tell me.

Chloe: Rapunzel.

0 for 2.

Okay so maybe a sports scholarship is the way to go. We headed outside to play catch with the tennis ball. Just before I tossed it in her direction, she yelled at me, “I get the first throw!” So I bounced it in the friendliest way I know how and she narrowly missed it as it licked her entire right side. Apparently, not close enough.

She grabbed the ball, looked at me, then turned her body in the opposite direction and proceeded to chuck it a mile away.

“Why did you do that Chloe?”

“If you’re not going to throw it to me, I’m not going to throw it to you.”

I asked her what she wanted to bring in her very first, school lunch. She replied, “bird poop.”

Good luck at school Rapunzel.